Commitment
by TheLostMaximoff
Summary: Some accept them, some fear them, and some curse them but in the end everyone has to keep the promises they've made. TimxCass fic.
1. Knights in the City

Commitment

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns these characters and not me. Wow, never thought I'd ever say that. I decided that my love of Tim and Cass could not simply be confined to one-shots. R/R if you enjoy.

It was a slow night. He pondered this as his bo staff collided with the mugger's skull. The metal pole in his hand rang with the vibrations and Tim Drake was sure the man's head was ringing in the same key. He'd ask the mugger himself but the man was unconscious and now lying on the ground. The woman who had been the intended victim had already fled the scene and was nowhere to be seen as Tim surveyed his handiwork.

"Not bad," said Robin to himself as he put away his weapon and checked a pouch on his belt. He would have to call the police about this one; the perp was too big for him to carry over to headquarters. Unless, of course, the woman was smart enough to find the nearest cop and tell him or her all of the details. In any other town besides Bludhaven, Tim might've considered that a viable scenario. Robin fished out some change and quickly found a phone booth. He felt horribly awkward as he dialed the number and stood there.

"There's a mugger on Broadway that needs picking up," said Robin, not really waiting for the desk sergeant to say hello, "You'll know him when you see him." He hung up the phone and moved back to secure the perp. He smiled as he began tying the man up. He had been leaving a little calling card lately. Everyone knew that the Bat was fond of leaving crooks hanging upside down from whatever was handy. Tim figured he could employ that trick as well. It was a good scare tactic.

"Alfred's going to be by tomorrow." Robin jumped at the sudden noise and almost dropped the mugger on his head as he hoisted the man up and tied him to a fire escape rail. Tim mentally cursed himself for being taken by surprise. He should be concentrating on the area instead of ways to make himself look cool. Tim turned and saw her or at least as much as he could of her. It never ceased to creep him out that Batgirl's costume blended almost perfectly with the dark. All he could really see was a vaguely humanoid patch of charcoal that stood out very little against the night.

"I hadn't heard," replied Robin as he looked at Batgirl, "He doing our laundry?"

"Didn't ask," replied Batgirl, "We at least . . . get breakfast." Robin smiled and could tell Batgirl did too. Hanging around with Cass taught you a couple tricks about body language. Plus, if Tim was being truthful there were plenty of other good things about hanging out with Cass.

"There's something . . . coming down . . . at the docks," informed Batgirl, "Everyone talks about it."

"You mean 'going down'," corrected Robin.

"Coming . . . going . . . whatever," replied Batgirl with a shrug. She was used to his corrections by now. They had even made a few jokes about it. She knew what she meant and she could tell he did too even if she didn't know the right words.

"What do you think it is?" asked Robin, "A shipment of something."

"Probably," replied Batgirl, "Wanna check?"

"It's a date," agreed Robin. Batgirl nodded as Robin shot out a line and hoisted himself up into Bludhaven's skyline. Batgirl quickly followed suit. It had been a slow night for her as well. A couple of muggings and a few attempted rapes. Cass hated those. It was disgusting. She shook her head slightly, noting to take an extra long shower when she got back to her apartment. But this thing at the docks, it was big. She knew just by the way the thugs acted when they "mentioned" it to her. She could see it was going to be big. So she had decided to let Robin give her a hand. They made a good team; Batgirl knew this.

"Where?" asked Robin as he perched on the roof of a warehouse. He noted for what must've been the millionth time that his costume was sorely lacking in the camouflage department. He kept meaning to talk to Bruce some day about that.

"Pier 76," replied Batgirl. Robin nodded. They weren't far but it wouldn't be good to rush in without a little knowledge beforehand. Robin pulled a small pair of binoculars out from his belt and clicked on the night-vision lenses.

"Boy scout," said Batgirl as she shook her head.

"Huh?" asked Robin as he gave her a quizzical expression.

"Boy scout," repeated Batgirl as she pointed to the binoculars, "Always . . . prepared. That's right . . . isn't it?"

"Yeah," replied Robin with a smile, "Yeah, you're right."

"There are two at the end of the dock," said Batgirl, "Two more . . . by the warehouse." She continued scanning the area, trying to see if she could pick up any others. She could always see them. She could see everything. Robin just watched her, forgetting his binoculars for the moment. Cass never ceased to amaze him sometimes. It was incredible how much she could pick up without any aid at all.

"More inside the warehouse?" asked Robin. Batgirl shook her head slightly. Robin knew what that meant. Cass was pretty much perfect but no machine ran without errors. The telltale shake of her head meant that she didn't know for sure. Tim wasn't really the type to play things by ear but right now it seemed like the best course of action.

"Boat's coming," said Batgirl, "More men there." Robin nodded. He already made a guess that it was either drugs or guns. Neither of those things were things he wanted in his town. His and Batgirl's town, he mentally corrected.

"We'll clear the inside first," stated Robin, "Then when they get ready to unload we'll hit those goons next."

"Works . . . for me," replied Batgirl with a nod. Robin nodded as the duo began to creep towards the warehouse, lightly jumping from rooftop to rooftop until they reached the one they wanted. Robin glanced around inside the warehouse.

"Crawling," whispered Batgirl before Robin had a chance to say anything, "Big group in the middle . . . playing crap. Few others . . . around too." Robin nodded, not bothering to remind her that the game was called "craps".

"Go time," he told her as he broke the window and slid into the warehouse. Batgirl nodded and followed behind him. The group of thugs had just looked up from the game when Batgirl landed in their midst. She always took point when she and Robin worked together. She was the fighter while Tim was the thinker. Bruce had been right, they had a lot to teach each other.

"The hell?" asked one of the thugs. It was the only thing he could say before Batgirl's fist shot out and connected with his jaw. This seemed to stun the rest of the goons into action. One of them came at her with a knife. Cass kicked it from his grasp and aimed her next kick at his bewildered face. There was another behind her and he received an elbow in his gut as he attempted to grab her from behind.

"Got him," assured Robin as he hit the thug in the back of the head with his bo staff. Batgirl wasn't paying attention. She knew Robin could watch her back. She was in what she had heard Dick and Babs refer to as "the zone". Truthfully, Cass felt that she had lived her whole life in "the zone". It was the other side of life that was hard, not this part. She had been raised in "the zone".

"Get the ones outside," Batgirl told Robin. Robin nodded. He could see that the two mooks that had been standing guard at the warehouse entrance had heard the commotion. He saw them pull out their firearms but he was already way ahead of them. Two of his insignia darts sang through the air and disarmed the two goons.

"Sorry gentlemen but I'm the only one who gets the toys tonight," apologized Robin as he sprang at the men, neatly flipping over them and managing to crack their heads together. Dick had taught him that move.

"Wouldn't worry though," assured Tim as he flicked a couple tangle grenades at the two unconscious thugs, "I got plenty of party favors to go around." He was still feigning lightness. He couldn't tell if it was all that had happened to him, the city, or both. He had a theory that it was both. He looked up in time to watch Batgirl end the dance with the other goons. It was poetry watching her move. Tim often reflected on how beautiful it was.

"And here we have our next contestants," muttered Robin sourly as he heard gunshots and ducked behind a stack of crates. The goons from the end of the pier had just arrived and he figured there was probably some more from the boat too. It just kept getting better and better as the night went along.

"Batgirl, blind rush," ordered Robin as he lobbed a flash bomb at the thugs. The disoriented men never saw Cass coming and even if they did it probably wouldn't have made a difference. In a few seconds they were out like lights.

"You check boat," said Batgirl as the duo exited the warehouse and looked out to the end of the dock, "I'll handle what's left." Robin nodded as the duo charged towards the group of men at the end of the pier. The people looked like mercenaries, which made Robin suspect they had been smuggling arms. It didn't matter. They could send a whole army after Cass and she'd still only break a sweat. Tim, however, stood a chance to break a lot more than a simple sweat. He vaulted up over the goons while Batgirl began to carve a path straight through them. Tim landed on the deck of the boat and immediately slammed his fist into a mercenary's face. There was another one after that but a tangle grenade stuck the gun to his hand before Robin kicked him in the face.

"Guns," said Robin to himself, "Definitely guns." He looked over to see that Batgirl had finished off the rest. She looked up at him and waved.

"Call the police," said Robin as he went down to check the cargo hold. He whipped out a penlight and used his staff like a crowbar to crack open a crate. Guns. He had been right on the money.

"Just call me Sherlock Junior," quipped Tim as he headed back up to wait and make sure the cops arrived. Unfortunately, much like a lot of things in Robin's life lately, this night just wasn't going to be so easy.

"How about we just call you 'dead', _amigo_?" asked a raspy voice. Robin instinctually rolled as a metallic object suddenly came his way. His feet hit the ground in a run to get some distance before the grenade exploded, taking a huge chunk of the deck with it. Great, this was a really fun way to end the night.

"It speaks," muttered Tim glibly as he tossed a few insignia darts at the mercenary in an effort to try and jam the launcher, "But apparently it doesn't have enough IQ to realize that you don't fire a grenade launcher while you're on a boat." He surmised that this goon must be the leader of this sorry band of thugs. He also knew that he'd have to get in close unless he wanted to spend the rest of the night dodging shrapnel.

"You the Bat's boy," sneered the mercenary as one of the darts nicked his arm, "That the best you got, kid? A little scratch on the arm ain't gonna cut it tonight."

"That was just practice," assured Robin as he sprinted towards the goon, "But then again, that's all guys like you really are, practice." The mercenary grinned maliciously as he leveled the grenade launcher at Tim's head but as he pulled the trigger, Robin used his staff and vaulted up over the man's head. Tim twisted in midair and let out a grappling cable that wound around the man, effectively pinning his arms and his weapon to his sides.

"Do you even have a clue where you are, junior?" asked Robin with a smirk towards the bound man as he saw Batgirl suddenly land on the deck, "You're trying to smuggle guns into _my_ town. That's enough of a problem but you're also doing it in _her_ town. Trust me, _amigo_, she really hates guns."

"Yeah . . . a lot," replied Batgirl as her foot collided with the man's jaw in a flying kick that took the mercenary down. Tim flashed her a grin as he saw that the cops were starting to arrive.

"Time to go," said Robin as the duo snagged their grappling lines on the roof of a warehouse and swung into the night as the police showed up.

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He was mad. It was understandable. Business for Oswald Cobblepot was not good and when business was not good then life as a whole was a little less rosy. And when business was bad because of two teenaged Bat-kids sticking their noses in his affairs on an almost nightly basis, things were pretty miserable.

"Damn," muttered the Penguin as he hung up the phone. Fat Willie had just called to voice his displeasure at the fact that the shipment he had wanted Penguin to smuggle into the country for him had been caught. That and, of course, to tell Cobblepot that he wasn't getting paid for this little fiasco. Penguin really hated it when that happened.

"I need a professional," said Penguin, "Someone who can really teach these kids a lesson."

"Bludhaven is full of people," responded Westbrook as Penguin pulled a cigar from the box in his desk.

"Local help's no good," stated Penguin as he took the cigar and cut off the end before lighting it, "Too traceable."

"Out of town then," suggested Westbrook, "Gotham has enough people to do the job." Penguin arched his eyebrow. Gotham did have any number of lunatics. All it took was the right one.

"I heard that Crane is out," stated Penguin as he took a puff on his cigar, "Get me in touch with him. He'll probably need money for more chemicals. If he can scare these kids off my back then I'll make it worth his time."

"As you wish," replied Westbrook as he departed.

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Cassandra Cain had learned a lot of things in her life. Most of them involved the art of murder and sometimes she reflected on what her life might've been like if she hadn't learned those things. Then, of course, there were a lot of other things she had learned. Like the fact that at one in the morning, microwave pizza tasted really good.

"So, Alfred's coming by?" asked Tim. Cass nodded and continued eating a slice of pizza.

"He's . . . making breakfast and then . . . we're going shopping for stuff," explained Cass as she finished the slice.

"Lucky," said Tim, "I've got school."

"You should rest," said Cass, "He asked if you were . . . doing okay." She still didn't know how to talk about it, about the fact that life for the usually optimistic Tim Drake had suddenly taken a very nasty and depressing turn. Cass didn't know what to say about that.

"I should go," agreed Tim, "You can crash here if you like."

"Always good," said Cass, "So are you . . . doing okay?"

"I'm trying," replied Tim, "I . . .." He didn't finish. Cass didn't need him to. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"I need to get some sleep," said Tim, getting up from the couch and moving towards his bedroom. He was unnerved by Cass's action. Not so much "unnerved" but rather . . . he wasn't sure what to call it. He didn't know what to think at this point, which was usually a sure sign that it was time for bed.

"Sleep good," said Cass.

"I'll try to sleep well," replied Tim as he gave her what was supposed to be a reassuring smile before closing the door. Cass forlornly stared at the door, knowing full well that the smile was feigned. She sighed and morosely bit into another slice of pizza. She wished she could do something for Tim, something to help him. He was her friend and he was hurting, she could see it so plainly. But what she couldn't see was a way to help. It frustrated her because it was a problem that couldn't be solved with fists. She was learning that, learning that there were lots of problems like that. They irritated her. She continued eating her pizza and tried to think. There had to be something she could do. Maybe she could buy him something. She looked over at Tim's bookshelf. Lately, he had been helping her learn how to read. He said she was doing really well. Cass decided that Tim deserved a present for helping her. Maybe she could find something tomorrow when she and Alfred went out.

Cass moved over to the window, finishing the pizza, and began staring at the city. Bludhaven was different from Gotham. It was . . . grittier? Cass figured that was the right word. It was a word she learned from Tim. He would always use it when he was talking about some detective movie. She figured it suited Bludhaven. She turned back to look at the closed door of Tim's bedroom. He didn't deserve this. He deserved something less gritty than Bludhaven, less gritty than this life. But Cass knew how he was. Tim would soldier on through anything but it didn't mean that he was untouchable.

"Tomorrow," promised Cass quietly as she turned back to the sky, "Tomorrow . . . I'll get him something." She stared at the city. She didn't know what but she felt something. Something big was coming. She couldn't know what but she knew something big was going to happen.

(Author's Note): More to come soon


	2. Little Things

Commitment (Part Two)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: DC Comics owns Tim and Cass and whoever else appears here. School is coming down on me but I'll try to update as soon as I can.

(Author's Note): With regards to Scarecrow, pretend that you either never read As the Crow Flies or that it simply didn't take place. I didn't really like what they did with him.

He was tired. He supposed at one level or another, all the rogues felt this way sometimes. It was akin to a mid-life crisis. Of course, he never put too much stock in those things. Armchair, pop psychology, that's about all a "mid-life crisis" was. But somewhere inside him, Jonathan Crane felt a sense of weariness. If one were to accurately describe it, he felt old, profoundly old to be more precise. He seemed to have taken on the demeanor of another Washington Irving character. At this point, he felt more akin to Rip Van Winkle, the man who slept for twenty years and then woke up to a world he felt out of place in.

The car had been easy to steal and the body all too easy to dispose of. The woman hadn't really provided any sort of meaningful information and certainly wouldn't have the privilege of becoming one of his case studies. Of course, he did derive a small amount of pleasure from making her suffer. She had been afraid, deathly afraid, of scarecrows. It only took a mild dose of his fear gas combined with his costume to terrify her to death. He hadn't meant to kill her but he had been curious as to how far he could push her. He was always curious, always trying to unlock the true nature of the human psyche. But these days, he was just bored. Perhaps once this job was finished and he was handsomely rewarded, he could set up a private lab somewhere where he could continue his experiments without running into costumed crime-fighters. That would be very nice and would probably put an end to his weariness. He certainly refused to have a nervous breakdown like Riddler did. No, that wasn't going to happen because it would be admitting fear, fear that he was worthless. He was the master of fear, not its simpering lackey. No, he would simply retire and continue his experiments in peace. It would be lovely. But first, he had to finish this job. Yes, it would be his grand finale, the terrifying torture of Batman's young protégées. It would be so lovely to hear them scream, such an amazing final movement to his grand symphony of fear and terror.

"Let them tremble," said Scarecrow to himself as he entered the city limits of Bludhaven. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and the large bag in the backseat. All the essentials were kept in that bag. He wasn't an idiot to go traipsing around Bludhaven in his costume during daylight hours. No, that would truly be lunacy. In daylight, he would be Jonathan Crane but when night came and the mind was already heightened by fear of the unknown, that's when the Scarecrow would come out to play with Robin and Batgirl.

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"Rise and shine, Master Timothy." For a brief moment, Tim Drake forgot where he was. His mind was caught in the fog hovering amongst nightmare, reality, and fantasy. To say the least, sleeping had become something of an ordeal for Tim. But upon hearing Alfred's voice rouse him from it, he almost thought he was still at Wayne Manor. It was a nice dream to think that, think that both Stephanie and his father were still alive and that everything had reverted to some sort of natural balance that it once held. Unfortunately, however, that innocence was lost and some things could never be regained.

"Morning, Alfred," said Tim as he reached over and slapped at his alarm clock in order to shut it up. Tim sat up quickly and got out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

"Breakfast will be ready upon your return," assured Alfred.

"Thanks, Alfred," said Tim, "You know we'd never live without you."

"I should hope that never occurs," replied Alfred with a small smile, "Quickly now, mustn't be late for school." Tim nodded and headed for the shower. He quickly turned on the water and waited until it was warm enough. He shook his head, trying to clear away the troubling images that disturbed his sleep. The same nightmares again, always the same. He let the water hit his face and wash the fog away, snapping him into motion. He had work to do and responsibilities that couldn't be ignored. He had to keep moving.

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Alfred had breakfast ready by the time Tim returned. He noticed that Cass was already eating.

"Morning," said Tim as he took a sip of orange juice and dug into his breakfast. Cass simply nodded and smiled, taking a sip of her tea.

"How are things in Gotham?" asked Tim as he looked towards Alfred.

"Much the same," replied Alfred, "Master Bruce has been quite busy with a few cases and, of course, the usual nightly activities." Tim nodded. He hadn't been to Gotham in a while. He didn't like being there unless it was important and usually that was only reserved for case work and holidays. He had tried visiting his stepmother, Dana, at the hospital once or twice but it was too painful and discomforting for him. Staying away, however, didn't make him feel any better.

"Sleep okay?" asked Tim as he looked to Cass, "I know that couch can be kinda uncomfortable."

"It was fine," replied Cass, "Do you want to . . . show Alfred . . . the game?" Tim smiled and nodded. Everyone had to learn to crawl before they could walk and Cass was no exception. Tim didn't exactly have a literature collection conducive to her reading level; they had figured that out pretty quickly. So until Tim could set up an account at the library and graciously present Cass with her first ever library card, they had developed a game. Tim would pick anything around and have Cass try to read it. Street signs, billboards, labels on boxes, anything he could find that he thought would be at her level.

"Alright, a couple of rounds," said Tim, checking his watch. He went over to a cabinet and, after a few moments of browsing, selected a can that he tossed to Cass. Cass caught the can and turned it over to stare at the label.

"Al . . . puh . . . Alpha . . . Alphabet," said Cass as she carefully scrutinized the label, "Alphabet Soup." She looked up with a smile at Tim. Tim enjoyed it when Cass smiled. For someone with such a hard life, she needed to smile.

"Very impressive," said Alfred to Cass, "I see you've really been improving." Cass nodded.

"You probably have all these memorized by now," said Tim as he looked through the cabinet, "I gotta run anyways. Alfred can help you if you wanna play more."

"Alright," said Cass, "Be good at school."

"Always," replied Tim with a smile as he grabbed his bag and headed out the door.

"He's trying," said Cass as she looked to Alfred.

"Master Timothy excels at that," assured Alfred, "He's a hard worker, always has been."

"Is Bruce . . . proud of him?" asked Cass, "That's all . . . all Tim wants to do . . . make people proud." Alfred smiled at Cass. He was always amazed at how much she could understand despite what some might consider a significant impairment.

"Master Bruce has never openly said such," admitted Alfred, "But I have no doubt that he is very proud of young Master Timothy."

"Do you . . . do you think that . . . Steph is proud of him?" asked Cass.

"I don't have to _think_ that, Miss Cassandra," explained Alfred, "I _know_ that Miss Stephanie is proud of him." Cass nodded and turned back to her breakfast. She wanted to get Tim something, something to let him know that he was appreciated.

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How'd that old saying go? Tim was trying to remember it as he sat in his Advanced Chemistry class. Eighteen tons and whadda ya get? Something like that. He'd find out later, if the wait didn't kill him first. His brain was like that. If he couldn't remember some trivial thing that he knew he should be able to, his brain nagged at him till he found it out or remembered it. Of course with the teacher droning on about things he already knew, Tim's brain wasn't going to get distracted and cut him some slack. Par for the course these days it seemed.

"You hear about what happened last night?" The whisper was low enough to avoid the teacher's ears but Tim could still pick it up, training from Batman not withstanding.

"Some gunfight at the docks." Two girls, both of them pretty and popular. Tim sighed. Even in Bludhaven, high school was still predictable.

"I heard on the news that Robin was there," said the first girl, "Everybody says he's only our age." Oh great, he had fan girls now. That was everything Tim needed to make his life complete.

"Megan said she saw some pictures of him," said the second girl, "He's such a hottie."

"Totally," agreed the first girl, "You know he has to have a body to pull off wearing those tights."

"So true," agreed the second. Tim tuned the girls out after that. He didn't really want any more fans. It was too painful to think that, at any moment, one of these girls could get the idiotic idea that they could do what he did. They could be just like Steph. Tim didn't want to entertain that idea and maybe for the first time in a long time, he considered seriously giving up being Robin. But Bruce needed him. Yes, Bruce needed him and Bludhaven needed him and the Titans needed him. The whole damn world needed Robin. But did Tim Drake need Robin? Now there was a question worth pondering. Tim smiled to himself as he suddenly remembered the rest of the saying. Eighteen tons and whadda ya get? Another year older and more in debt. Tim rested his cheek against his hand and stared lazily at the clock, contemplating how true that saying had become in his case.

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Cass had heard that most girls enjoyed shopping. She didn't really see why at first but eventually it began to grow on her. Maybe it was some sort of thing with . . . harmonies? Cass knew that wasn't right. What was the word? Hormones, that was it. She didn't know if it was true though. She'd ask Babs the next time the older woman called.

"How is the city treating you?" asked Alfred as the duo sat at a plastic table in the mall's food court. Alfred sipped his ice tea and watched Cass drink her chocolate milkshake.

"Okay," replied Cass, "Bludhaven is . . . darker. It makes Gotham look . . . happy."

"So I've heard," said Alfred, "Master Dick has told me enough tales about this place."

"Doesn't look bad . . . from in here though," admitted Cass.

"Perhaps it has a few bright spots then," agreed Alfred. Cass sipped her milkshake and pondered whether or not she should ask for Alfred's help in picking out Tim's present. She wanted to pick it out herself but maybe he could offer some advice.

"What does Tim like?" asked Cass bluntly. Alfred arched an eyebrow at the question.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Miss Cassandra," explained Alfred.

"What does Tim like . . . for presents?" clarified Cass. Alfred's eyebrow arched slightly higher at this.

"Master Timothy is fond of detective paraphernalia," replied Alfred. Cass gave him a blank look.

"Parfinella?" asked Cass.

"Paraphernalia," corrected Alfred, "I believe you would call it, 'stuff'."

"Ohh, stuff," said Cass as if some deep mystery had just been made clearer, "What else besides . . . that?"

"Computer games," said Alfred, "He likes those as well. Why, if I may ask, are you asking me?" Cass blushed slightly and then wondered why she did so.

"Tim . . . helps me read and learn," explained Cass, "I just . . . wanted to give him something . . . in return."

"I believe that's a good reason," said Alfred with a little smile. He had grown quite fond of Cassandra since she had become a member of "the family". She was different from Barbara and he found himself thinking of her as more of a surrogate daughter.

"Would you . . . help?" asked Cass sheepishly.

"I'd be delighted," replied Alfred.

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Everything looked different under the mask. Scarecrow had mused on this over the course of his criminal career. Once he put on his full regalia, everything changed. He was fully aware, of course, that it was just his perception of everything that changed. But still, putting on the costume was really almost like becoming a new person. He found it a small exhilaration in what was starting to become a very tedious life.

"I don't need to tell you how important this job is to me," stated Penguin as he puffed on a cigar, "You know I wouldn't hire you unless it was important." Scarecrow wondered if he should be offended or take that as a compliment. He decided on neither.

"We've set the fee," replied Scarecrow, "I'd like to request the use of some of your men for a small diversion."

"Go on," prodded Penguin.

"I have some new formulas I've been anxious to try out," explained Scarecrow, "One in particular seems excellent for the job."

"Do tell," replied Penguin as he puffed on his cigar.

"The Boy Blunder is no challenge," stated Scarecrow, "but Batgirl's costume does not allow her to breathe in my terror toxins. I can remedy this little flaw. I have a bio agent version that will seep through their costumes and their skin."

"What will this cost me?" asked Penguin. He was ever the businessman, always thinking in terms of loss and gain. Scarecrow knew this to be the case and had tried, while concocting this plan, to make sure Penguin wouldn't have to expend much effort.

"The compound is administered in two doses," continued Scarecrow, "The first dose is gradual, mildly panic-inducing but over time. It's more difficult to trace that way. However, when combined with the second dose, the chemical really takes effect and produces all the lovely benefits of my usual fear gas only to a greater degree."

"You need my men to serve as a distraction so you can administer the first dose," summed up Penguin, "Do I have a guarantee you can hit them with the second?"

"I should be able to," assured Scarecrow, "The first dose simply enhances already latent fears, anxieties, paranoias, etc. It's the second dose that throws the victim into full-blown hallucinatory episodes." He was getting excited just thinking about that part.

"We have a deal," stated Penguin, "Payment upon full completion of the job." Scarecrow nodded, not really concerned with the money at this point. He was now more anxious to try this new formula and to make both Batgirl and Robin scream for mercy.

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"You and Alfred have fun today?" asked Robin as he and Batgirl both perched on a rooftop overlooking a bank. Word had spread fast in the underworld that someone was planning on hitting said bank tonight. Since it was near the spot where Robin and Batgirl's patrol routes intersected, it was decided that this would be a joint operation. Truthfully, Cass just saw it as a way to spend time with Tim. She wasn't used to how normal interactions with people went. She was much more comfortable as Batgirl than she was as Cassandra Cain. So when Robin suggested they partner up again, Batgirl took the opportunity.

"Yeah," replied Batgirl with a concealed smile. It took her a little bit but she had finally found the perfect present for Tim. She just needed the right moment to give it to him.

"That sounded pretty suspicious," said Robin with a grin, "You two get into trouble?"

"No," replied Batgirl, "I'll tell you . . . later." Robin arched an eyebrow. There were no secrets from a master detective. He knew they had done something and that Cass wanted it to be a surprise. He'd let her savor her moment then.

"That's the cue," said Robin as he saw a group of men enter the bank in very suspicious and questionable wardrobe choices. He sighed. Couldn't crooks get a stylist or something? Batgirl simply nodded as the duo hooked their lines on the cornice of a building and swung down towards the bank's front door.

"Lady first," said Robin with a grin.

"You could . . . make someone think they're . . . not wanted," said Batgirl, "You always make me take point."

"Only because I know you're so good at it," replied Robin. Batgirl rolled her eyes behind her mask as the duo entered the bank. Robin surveyed the scene and saw that everyone was already on the ground. Great, innocent bystanders were always fun.

"Wow, looks like we came at a bad time," said Robin. The two thugs that were over by the tellers whirled around and aimed their guns squarely at Robin and Batgirl.

"Bad time . . . for them," assured Batgirl as the duo sprang into action. Robin whipped out his bo and leapt towards the two thugs at the tellers. The thugs began firing. Robin hated it when that happened. All it did was make all hell break loose. Plus, considering his costume was bulletproof it didn't make a bit of difference to him. He tackled one thug over the counter, riding the man to the ground and knocking his lights out. He whipped the end of his bo out and felt it knock the gun from the other thug's hand.

"Lucky you weren't trigger-happy," said Robin as he jabbed the man in the stomach with the end of the staff, "Almost shot yourself in the foot." The thug didn't have time to answer as Robin leapt back over the counter and smashed his palm into the crook's jaw. This was easy, way too easy. Where was the catch?

"Heavy artillery in the back?" wondered Robin as he moved to where Batgirl was dealing with the other crooks.

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She wasn't one to have professional opinions yet but if she did then Batgirl would've said this was too easy. It was almost boring.

"No good," stated Batgirl as her foot slammed into one man's stomach while her fist connected with another's jaw. She let a batarang fly from her fingertips, disarming a thug before he could get a sure grip on the weapon he had just drawn. She could read these men better than any book. Right now, she might as well have been reading Tim's physics book for all the excitement this was providing. She turned to spot another foe and heard some popping sounds. A cloud of vapor suddenly enveloped her. She figured it was just smoke bombs, nothing to be too nervous about even though she was slightly spooked that she couldn't see anything. Yes, that was a major problem. She coughed slightly and quickly rolled forward out of the gas cloud. She shook her head to clear some cobwebs. It was just smoke, no big deal.

"What, all smoke and no mirrors?" asked Robin as he saw what happened, "You guys don't look like magicians." A few tangle grenades popped and one thug went down in a mesh of sticky gel. Robin saw more smoke bombs go off. At least they looked like smoke bombs. It was hard to tell since he found himself now in the midst of it all.

"Yeesh," coughed Robin as he tried to get out of the cloud, "Makes me glad I don't smoke." He noticed Batgirl was up now and he quickly made his way out of the fog to her.

"Gone," stated Batgirl, "They . . . left the money?"

"Weird," coughed Robin, "They should've grabbed at least some of it."

"This . . . wasn't a robbery," said Batgirl, "This . . . was something else." She knew it had to be something else.

"Maybe they got scared and cut their losses," suggested Robin.

"No," said Batgirl. She knew it was something else but for some reason she was afraid to think of what it could be.

"We should go," said Robin, "Cops'll be here soon." Batgirl nodded as the duo left the bank. She was nervous about something but couldn't figure out what. She was never nervous after a fight, never. So why now?

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Robin quietly slid in through his apartment window and took off his mask and cape. He coughed once, clearing his throat of smoke. It had been a weird night. There was an uneasiness in his stomach. He didn't know why. Maybe he just needed some sleep. He took off the top of his costume and threw it in his closet along with the mask and cape. It was then that he noticed something on his bed. He changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before finally flicking the light on to see what it was. He stared at the box quizzically, carefully taking the card out from under the big, red ribbon. It simply said "Tim" on the front. He knew it was Alfred's handwriting from the precision and neatness of the cursive. Alfred bought him a present? Tim opened the envelope and pulled out the simple card. He opened it and began to read.

_Tim,_

_I had Alfred write this because I can't write very good yet. I just wanted to thank you for helping me a lot. You're a good teacher and a good friend. Hope you like the present._

_Cass_

Tim smiled as he opened the box. He pulled out a DVD and looked at it. _The Maltese Falcon_, special edition. This was a classic. He remembered how one night he'd finally gotten Steph to rent it because it had been forever since he'd seen it. He wondered if Cass had ever seen it. He had been meaning to buy it but never got around to it. Just because Bruce Wayne was the one giving him an allowance most of the time didn't mean he could buy _everything_ he wanted.

"Cass," whispered Tim, "You shouldn't have." The weird feeling in his stomach was back again. He felt nervous and unsure now. Little voices in the back of his head started telling him he didn't deserve this. He calmed his nerves for a second, dismissing it as simple nervousness at the fact that a girl was showing affection to him and her name wasn't Stephanie Brown. Yes, that was it. He'd get some sleep, go to school tomorrow, and thank Cass for the present. He still felt a general uneasiness as he put the movie on his desk and then crawled into bed after flicking off the light. He was only sixteen and already he was paranoid about everything. He always knew he spent too much time around Bruce.

(Author's Note): Unfortunately, there is no special edition of that movie but it's still really good. I figured since Tim's a detective he'd appreciate a classic.


	3. Breaking Point

Commitment (Part Three)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. Happy Thanksgiving to all and hope you enjoy this new chapter that I'm typing up instead of working on my paper. R/R.

Last night hadn't been good. Cass shook her head slightly. Put bluntly, last night had sucked. She tried to stop remembering the nightmares that plagued her sleep. She had nightmares sometimes, it was a given. But usually those nightmares were about the man she had killed years ago and they usually didn't make her this apprehensive. But these were . . . jumbled. She couldn't quite remember them clearly. Something about Tim and her being scared. There was plenty of her being scared, she remembered that part. But why Tim? Cass shook her head and hit the punching bag again. Training helped her focus, helped her clear her mind. Two more punches followed the first and then a roundhouse kick. The images from her nightmares were still there and she tried to concentrate harder on the bag. She needed "the zone" now. She needed to feel at home. She hit another punch-kick combination and then gave the bag a few short jabs. Right cross then left hook. Focus. Cass forced herself to focus but it didn't seem to work. Images flashed behind her eyes. Tim, fear, crying, blood. She tried to focus. Her style was off now, gaps forming in her combos where there should normally be only smooth perfection. She went for another roundhouse but suddenly the bag wasn't the bag anymore. Suddenly, she was kicking at Tim. Her mind panicked and she curved the kick away. She stood there gasping and staring at the bag. It wasn't Tim anymore.

"What's wrong . . .?" panted Cass in disbelief, "What's wrong . . . with me?"

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"And you're sure they stayed in the cloud long enough?" asked Scarecrow.

"Yeah, timed it just like you said," replied one of the goons from the bank robbery, "Plenty of exposure." Scarecrow nodded, a mirthful grin playing across his lips. Delicious, very delicious indeed.

"We'll have to see it in action," stated Scarecrow giddily, "I want to make sure they got enough exposure."

"You want us to stage another heist?" asked the thug skeptically.

"Not stage one, dear boy," corrected Scarecrow, "I believe it's time to throw away the theatrics and get down to business." He was almost salivating at the thought of what the second dose would produce. The moment of truth was almost at hand. At last he would have his escape from his weariness.

"There's an armored car coming in tonight," said the thug, "Hit it?"

"Whatever works," replied Scarecrow dismissively, "Go for the money this time. I'm sure Cobblepot will be pleased if you up the return on his investment." The thug nodded and left to get in touch with more men. Scarecrow turned back to the small workspace he had set up in the warehouse he was using while in Bludhaven. He stared at the bubbling beakers and strange vials of liquid. Was this really all of Jonathan Crane's life here on this paltry table? What a waste of brilliance. He checked himself. The play was not yet finished. One final act, the grand finale. He would leave with a ringing chorus of screams. He would leave with everyone whispering his name in fear forever. He was nothing before he became the Scarecrow. He would end his criminal career as a god, the new god of fear.

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He opened the door to his apartment and almost jumped out of his skin to find Cassandra Cain sitting on his couch. He had been on edge all day but he couldn't figure out why.

"Geez, Cass," said Tim as he tried to catch his breath, "Gimme a heart attack here." Cass gave him a worried look but didn't know why it was worried.

"Hey, it was a joke," said Tim as he saw Cass frown, "C'mon, you know I was kidding."

"I know but . . .," said Cass as she shook her head and tried to explain. In her dream, something bad had happened to Tim and it scared the hell out of her. She still wasn't exactly sure how to deal with that.

"Something wrong?" asked Tim, "That why you're here?"

"I dunno," explained Cass, "Not much else . . . to do."

"Oh," said Tim. He realized suddenly that Cass lived a very solitary existence. He wondered if she was lonely. He felt the apprehension creep over him again. Maybe that's what she was trying to say by getting him the present. Maybe that's why she was here now. But he couldn't be with her, not like that. The thought of it alone made him extremely nervous. It was too soon, much too soon.

"You're nervous," stated Cass, "Why?"

"It's nothing," assured Tim as he tried to calm himself, "Just stress."

"Oh," said Cass, not wanting to tell him that she didn't buy it. To tell the truth, she was suddenly nervous too. She kept thinking about the dream and it scared her. She didn't want to lose Tim. He was one of the few real friends she had left and she really cared about him.

"I . . . uhm . . . I got your present," said Tim with a little grin.

"Oh?" asked Cass, "You like?"

"Yeah," said Tim, "I mean I've seen the movie before but it's been such a long time ago. Now I can watch it whenever I want." Cass smiled, pleased that he was happy. She liked seeing him happy again.

"Thanks," said Tim, "It was really nice of you."

"No problem," replied Cass, "Couple hours till dark. You wanna watch it?" She noticed the sudden shift in his demeanor. Apprehension, nervousness, uncertainty. He was . . . afraid of her? He never was afraid of her before, why now? Had she done something wrong?

"I can't," said Tim, "Homework." There was some truth to that. He knew though that it was mostly a lie. He was nervous about . . . about being with another girl. He knew what Steph would've called it. They had fought about it a few times. Fear of commitment, fear of being tied down. He was afraid to be with another girl. He was afraid in general right now. Best to retreat, return to his reclusive ways, ways that he had learned from a master. He was not proud that he used some of Bruce's methods or that he had picked up some bad habits from his mentor but they worked.

"Okay," said Cass simply, "See you later." She moved to the door as he retreated towards his bedroom. They both stopped and lingered, turning to look at one another but trying not to let the other know.

"Cass, I . . . I didn't mean it that way," explained Tim dejectedly, "You know I'd love to watch it with you. But you know, duty calls and stuff."

"I know," said Cass quietly. Tim felt liked it wasn't enough.

"Come out with me tonight," said Tim, "All night, you and me. We'll do everything together. We kick butt, crack jokes, stop the bad guys, and then watch the movie when we get back. Is it a date?" He barely was able to phrase the question in those terms but he forced it out anyway.

"Okay," said Cass with a small, nervous smile. She couldn't shake her dream. What if something happened to him tonight? What if she lost him? What if when she walked out this door she never saw him again? She choked out the doubts. It was a dream and nothing more. She had to stop this.

"You okay?" asked Tim.

"I'm fine," assured Cass, "Gotta . . . get my costume. I'll be back . . . later."

"Okay," said Tim, "I promise I'll be done soon."

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Tim had been true to his word and had finished in an hour. Cass felt oddly strange to be swinging around with him. Was it . . . what were those things called? Was this like a date? She didn't exactly know; she had never been on a real date before. She wondered if anyone in her line of work went on real dates.

"Having fun?" asked Robin as the duo perched on top of an office building and stared at the streets of Bludhaven. Batgirl smiled under her mask. Only Tim could make a place like Bludhaven cheerful.

"Sure am," replied Batgirl. It had been a good night. There hadn't been anything out of the ordinary, nothing they couldn't handle if they had been alone. It had been a good night, something they both seemed to need.

"There's an armored car coming in," said Robin, "Could be trouble."

"We'll manage," assured Batgirl. She almost hated it that they had work to do. She never thought she would hate being Batgirl. But tonight, she just felt like being Cassandra Cain. She regretted now that she didn't have enough time as Cass. She missed being Cass.

"We should stay with it," said Robin as he eyed the car, "Just to make sure."

"Alright," agreed Batgirl. Robin smiled. He was enjoying this. Honestly, this had been the most fun he'd had in a while. It was weird to think that swinging around in spandex was fun but tonight it was. Until, of course, he saw the hooded men suddenly appear and begin brandishing their firearms.

"Damn," muttered Robin, "Never a dull moment." He hooked his line to a building and began to swing down into the fray. Batgirl followed suit.

"Man, you guys are impatient," said Robin as he landed in the middle of the goons, "You couldn't even wait for it to get to the bank."

"You won't talk so tough after I blow your head off," said one of the thugs as he pointed his gun at Robin's head. The thug let out a spray of bullets as Tim quickly tumbled and ducked behind a car. He heard someone cry out and saw one of the security guards clutch his chest and go down.

"Hell," muttered Robin, momentarily noticing that his language was getting worse, "These clowns have cop-killer bullets." It was always a nasty scene when thugs got their hands on armor-piercing ammunition. He knew he had to disarm them quickly.

"Batgirl, these guys have cop-killers," warned Robin as he popped out from behind the car and let some tangle grenades fly as he made his way over to the fallen security guard, "Watch your back." Batgirl nodded and flipped to dodge a spray of bullets. She hated guns. They were cowardly. She heard the pop of Robin's tangle bombs and jumped towards the goons. She nailed one in the jaw with a flying kick and then turned, spin-kicking the other thug.

"I hate . . . guns," muttered Batgirl as she dove for cover to avoid gunfire. Robin finished checking the guard, grimacing that he was already dead. His insignia darts whirled through the air and disarmed the men. He leapt into their midst and began taking out his anger as his bo staff began slamming against skulls left and right. So far so good, minus the dead man of course. He wondered when things were going to get really tough. They always got worse. He felt a slow dread crawl and creep over him. What was going on with him lately? Why was he so nervous all the time? It couldn't be a coincidence. It had to mean something.

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She was getting sloppy. Batgirl didn't' know how or why it was happening but she could see it clearly. Just like with training earlier that day. There were gaps in her style, gaps so big you could drive a truck through them. She punched a thug in the face and he didn't go down. The hit should've been harder. She couldn't focus. Batgirl fought the nervousness, tried to keep from shaking. She hit the man again and this time he went down.

"Batgirl, move!" She whirled to her right and saw it. The thug had the pistol pointed straight at her head. Only the thug wasn't a thug anymore. It was . . . Robin?

"Tim?" whispered Batgirl, "No, not Tim." Her mind flashed back to when they had infiltrated one of Penguin's meetings. Robin held the gun at her and pulled the trigger. It was play-acting, just like the fight between them that preceded the shooting, but it didn't mean she wasn't scared. She was taught to resist flinching when someone shot at her. When Tim did so that night, however, she had flinched. Her father wouldn't have been proud of her for that.

Batgirl remembered all this and it made her freeze as she once again saw Robin with a gun pointed straight at her. She tried telling herself that it wasn't really him, telling herself to attack, telling herself just to move in general. She couldn't though. She was paralyzed and she was going to die. The crack of the pistol, however, wasn't the only sound Batgirl head. She heard the sound of her body hitting the ground as someone tackled her to the pavement. It was all she could do to keep herself from having a panic attack.

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Robin tackled Batgirl to the ground mere seconds before the shot was fired. He didn't check yet to see if she was okay. One of his darts quickly disarmed the man. Robin grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed him up against the armored car.

"Take another shot at her and I will put you in the hospital," said Robin as he stared the thug in the eyes menacingly before delivering the knockout blow. He sounded tougher than he actually felt. Inside, Tim Drake was a nervous wreck. Robin quickly went back over to check on Batgirl.

"You okay?" asked Robin, "No wounds?" He noticed that Batgirl was shaking, trembling. He never saw Cass gets scared before in his life.

"I . . . I'm okay," said Batgirl in between ragged breaths. She knew she was shaking and saw Tim was too.

"Something is wrong," stated Robin, his hands trembling, "Something is really, really wrong." Batgirl could only nod, too afraid to speak.

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They went back to Tim's place. Cass felt bad. Everything had been going so well and then this had to screw everything up. Then _she_ had to screw everything up.

"Okay," said Tim, trying to calm himself, "Okay." He knew that something was amiss. Nothing had felt right all day.

"Something happened to us," explained Tim, "Drugs?" The question was more to himself than Cass. He was in thinking mode now but it was being undermined by his fear.

"Tim, I . . .," said Cass. She didn't know what to say. He saved her life. But there was more than that to the story. In those few seconds before he saved her, Cass realized something. She didn't know exactly what it was. She and Tim were . . . connected. It wasn't friends. It was . . . something more, something better.

"Had to be some chemical," said Tim to himself, "But how did it get in us?"

"Tim, I . . . I have to tell you," said Cass, "I don't . . . don't know how to."

"How to what?" asked Tim as he looked at her, "Cass, something wrong?"

"Tim, I was about to die," explained Cass, "You . . . saved my life. You do . . . so many things . . . all for me." Tim stared at her quizzically as Cass tried to make the things in her head into words. It was so frustrating for her.

"Cass, what are you trying to tell me?" asked Tim. She didn't care anymore. Forget words and sentences and syllables. Cass knew one language and one language alone: the language of movement and action. So she acted. She quickly moved to him and kissed him. She didn't know how it was done and didn't care. The kiss was forceful, demanding. Cass wanted Tim to know what she felt. She poured all her emotion into one kiss and let him have it.

"C-Cass?" asked Tim as he suddenly pulled back, "What?"

"Love you," whispered Cass, "I love you, Tim." He couldn't say anything. He just stood there for a few moments, too stunned to say anything.

"I'm always . . . scared," struggled Cass, "You . . . I don't want to . . . you can't leave like Steph. Not like that, please."

"Cass, I . . .," began Tim, "I care about you too but. . .."

"Not care," corrected Cass, "Love. I love you. Big, huge letters."

"Cass, I can't deal with this right now," explained Tim, "Besides, there's some chemical inside us and it's screwing with our heads. You had to have felt its affects all day like me."

"Not that," said Cass as she shook her head violently, "Tim, this is . . . this is real and I . . . I want this, want you."

"I can't," said Tim, "You know what happened to Steph and my dad because of the fact that I'm Robin. Everybody who gets close to me dies."

"Stop being scared," snapped Cass suddenly, "You keep everyone . . . you push them away. Stop being scared because . . . I won't leave."

"You almost died tonight," stated Tim, "You said it yourself. Everyone's going to leave some day." His voice shook as he said it. It was true and every day he made himself remember it. He was scared to love someone again.

"I feel," stated Cass, "I'm scared too. You . . . you let it run your life. Stop." She wanted this so much, maybe as much as being like Bruce. Maybe she wanted this more than the mantle of the Bat. Why couldn't he see the things she could? She knew he cared for her. She could see it and could tell it scared him. But she couldn't hide this any longer and she knew it was time for him to stop running away from it.

"You don't know how it feels," said Tim sorrowfully, "You don't know what it's like to wake up with her lips still on yours. You don't know what it's like to hear the echo of her laugh or see the faded image of her smile. You don't know . . .."

"I have blood . . . on my hands too!" snapped Cass as she put her mask back on and moved to the window, "Don't tell me that . . . I don't know what that's like." She opened the window and shot out a line. She didn't care anymore. Cass couldn't fight with words and she didn't want to fight Tim with fists. So she backed down for once in her life.

"Cass," said Tim as he moved to the window and she swung away, "Wait." It was too late, too late to stop being an idiot. Tim put his head in his hands as he sat down at a table. Why did he have to be such an idiot? He was a detective for God's sake. Why did he have to be so stupid?

"C'mon, Drake," said Tim to himself, "Get it together and suck it up, you pansy." Where had the chemical come from? It had to have happened some time yesterday. What happened yesterday?

"The bank robbery," muttered Tim, "The smoke bombs?" That had to be it. If he wasn't so damn nervous about everything he would've figured it out sooner. If he wasn't so afraid then maybe he could've handled things better back there with Cass. Afraid. Tim pondered that. Fear. Chemical warfare. Two plus two still created four.

"Oh God, Crane's in town," muttered Tim. That had to be it. It had to be the Scarecrow's work. Tim figured the psycho must've cooked up some new toxin and hidden it in the smoke. Crane was a master at chemical warfare, it wouldn't be beyond his skill.

"Gotta find Cass," muttered Tim, his hands shaking as he moved to the window and shot out a line, "Gotta make sure she's okay." He had to find her. If the Scarecrow had some new weapons, who knows what he could do if he caught her off guard. He wouldn't let that happen, not again. Nobody was going to die because of Tim Drake.


	4. Fear Itself

Commitment (Part Four)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. R/R.

The Scarecrow had been watching the attempted armored car robbery and he liked what he saw. He did not follow the duo back to wherever they had gone. No, he had his own agenda. He had to stock up on the second dose.

"Such wonderful delights," muttered Scarecrow to himself as he opened the folds of his coat and began loading the inside pockets with spray cans. He was giddy now, almost whistling a tune to himself as he loaded the spray mechanisms on his wrists that were concealed by his costume. The curtain was rising, the orchestra beginning the prelude. He would move this night closer and closer to crescendo and then when the time was right he would end it.

"First Batgirl," said Scarecrow to himself, "She'll be the first to scream." He finished stocking up and then raced off into the night. He would find Batgirl and he would make her suffer. Then once he was done with her, he would move onto Robin.

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She felt like punching something. Where was a criminal when you really needed one? Batgirl perched on a rooftop and sulked. She didn't know who to be mad at. She couldn't make herself be mad at Tim. She had tried and it didn't last that long. Cass sighed. She was stupid for saying what she had said. Robin had shared something with Spoiler, something with Steph, that she could only dream of. What right did she have to expect him to move at her pace? But Cass knew she was right. She knew it without a doubt. He did love her, and he was the stupid one for being too scared to admit it. So why was Cass the one feeling so bad now?

"I hate . . . boys," mumbled Batgirl. She sighed and realized that she had to find him and talk to him. But then the weird paranoia began creeping up on her again. What if he was still mad? What if she hadn't been right all along? No, she knew she was right. Cass was always right about these things.

"Don't be stupid . . . this time, Tim," muttered Batgirl as she began to swing back in the direction of Tim's apartment. It was then, however, that she noticed something. Someone was standing on a building top and the someone looked very out of place. Batgirl veered towards the building and landed on the roof.

"Should have . . . known," muttered Batgirl. She recognized the figure from the pictures she had seen in Bruce's files. Scarecrow, a lunatic who was obsessed with fear.

"I know it's you," said Batgirl, "Scarecrow . . . big boogeyman. What do you . . . want here?" Scarecrow said nothing. Indeed, he seemed to not even acknowledge Batgirl's presence and continued keeping his back to her. Batgirl moved closer, slowly. She remembered what Robin had been going on about earlier. Chemicals, drugs, fear. He had done something to them and it had made them do things to each other.

"Face me," ordered Batgirl. She was close to being in striking distance. The strange thing was that she couldn't read him. Cass wondered if it was because of the fear. She felt it even now and the closer she got to him, the more nervous she became.

"Face you?" The voice was low and slightly whimsical. It made Batgirl even more nervous.

"You did something . . . to me and Robin," stated Batgirl shakily, "It ends now."

"Dear child," sneered Scarecrow as he suddenly whirled around and shot out his foot at Batgirl's head, "I've only just started having fun with you." Batgirl moved to duck but Scarecrow's heel still grazed the side of her head, knocking her a little silly.

"I wonder how you feel now," said Scarecrow as Batgirl shook her head to clear it, "Have you started shaking yet? Sweating perhaps?" He relished this. The girl was in _his_ world now and they were playing the game by _his_ rules.

"I'm not . . . afraid," replied Batgirl as she hit Scarecrow in the face. The straw cushioned most of the blow. Crane didn't feel enough of it to be fazed very much. He brought his right leg up and delivered a very quick kick to Batgirl's stomach. Cass should've seen it coming. She couldn't focus with the fear. Batgirl tried to remember what she knew about Crane style. Lots of kicks, that was the main offense. Cass had to watch his feet in particular.

"I wonder something," said Scarecrow as he suddenly backhanded Batgirl, "How loudly can you scream?" Crane went for her jaw this time. Batgirl grabbed Scarecrow's foot before the kick could connect.

"This ends," stated Batgirl as she leg-whipped Scarecrow and sent him to the ground. That should've put his leg in some pain, enough for Batgirl to try and get it together. Had she been on her game, Cass would've probably broken at least his ankle if not his whole leg. Batgirl blinked and shook her head, trying to make the involuntary shaking in her body subsided. She had to focus.

"If only that could be true," mused Scarecrow as he returned to his feet, "Can you really end me, little girl? Do please come and try." Scarecrow came at her again. Batgirl ducked a punch and then felt his foot collide with her jaw. That hurt, really hurt. She wasn't used to actually getting hit. Batgirl's legs were trembling but she punched right back at him. Cass knew this had to end quickly. She began pressing the advantage, hitting Scarecrow again. This felt good for her, she was winning now. Batgirl tackled Scarecrow to the ground and punched him again. She marveled at how he was just like her punching bag in that she didn't need to hold back since he was padded. But if he was like the punching bag then that meant he could turn into . . .. Batgirl raised her fist to strike but halted. She couldn't follow through, not when she saw Tim beneath her.

"Those shots were free," giggled Scarecrow as he put his hands in front of his face. Gas spurted out from his palms, right into Batgirl's face. Cass coughed and kicked herself backwards. She couldn't see anything but noxious vapor. It was consuming her, swallowing her whole.

"Perhaps you'll provide some amusement," said Scarecrow disdainfully as he emptied both canisters at Batgirl. Crane looked up and noticed that someone was coming. The Dark Knight's faithful squire was coming to rescue his lady in distress. Scarecrow decided to take his leave. The gas alone would do Batgirl in and with the dose he had given her she wouldn't be able to tell up from down let alone friend from foe.

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Batgirl couldn't see anything but fog and it scared the hell out of her. If she couldn't see then she couldn't read anything. She was useless. Cass tried finding her way out of the cloud. There were things in the fog, nightmare creatures. They clawed at her and she tried to fight them off but couldn't see them clearly enough.

"Crane," hissed Batgirl as she saw the figure through the fog. Cass pounced on him, taking him down with ease. She reached for his throat. That was how she had killed before. She had ripped a man's throat out with her bare hands when she was nine, she could certainly do it now.

"Do it," said a voice. The creatures in the fog urged her on. Batgirl had to kill Scarecrow. She had to end the nightmare. The demons told her, promised her, it would all go away if she did.

"Do it, do it, do it," chanted the voices. Batgirl tried to stop shaking. She was so afraid. She had to do it, she had no other choice. But then just like before, Scarecrow suddenly became Robin.

"Do it, do it, do it." The demons were so persistent but Batgirl couldn't appease them even if she knew it was still Crane and not Robin. She couldn't . . . not Tim. Cass pulled her hands away but she felt something come with them. There was . . . blood on her hands. There was so much blood, like a red tide washing over her and engulfing her. Batgirl knew she had killed again. She swore she never would. She promised everyone she would be a good girl.

"Liar, liar, liar," accused the demons. Batgirl began crying now. Why did she always have to be so stupid?

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Robin knew the second he hit the rooftop that something was wrong. In the blink of an eye, Batgirl had tackled him, pinned him, and was about to choke him out. Not exactly the warmest welcome Tim Drake had ever received. Robin quickly deduced that Cass must've ran into Scarecrow. Tim made a mental note to completely rip Crane apart if he could pry himself loose from Batgirl's vice-like grip.

"Batgirl," choked Robin, "It's Robin. Can you see me?" The grip on his throat tightened and he tried to struggle free. Robin stared at Batgirl's face, completely hidden behind her mask. Tim knew he only had one shot at this and he prayed that it would work. He wiggled his hands free and peeled back Batgirl's mask. Tim was amazed at the change as Cass snapped out of it or at least appeared to. Batgirl drew back but then looked more frightened. Robin saw her stare at her hands. Oh God, she couldn't have been reliving _that_.

"Sorry," pleaded Batgirl, "Accident . . . sorry, Tim . . . don't be dead . . . it was accident." Cass was hysterical now, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Cass," said Robin softly as he gripped her, "I'm okay, kid. Look at me. You have to see me." Batgirl shook her head in horror as she kept crying and staring at her hands.

"Cass, say something," pleaded Robin as he shook her, "C'mon, sweetie, snap out of it. C'mon, I'm okay." Robin hugged her tightly, doing everything he could to try and bring Batgirl out of the hallucinatory fog she was in. Nothing worked. Cass kept crying and staring at her hands with a look of absolute horror on her face.

"Hang with me," pleaded Robin as he cradled Batgirl in his arms. She was going to die if he didn't do something. Too much exposure to Crane's toxin would kill someone. He had to get help. Robin was scared out of his mind at this point. All the antidotes he had wouldn't work on this new toxin. He had to get Bruce here.

"Cass," whispered Tim as he kissed her forehead, "I swear to God I'm not letting you die."

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Robin had done two things as soon as he returned to his apartment. The first thing he did was lay Cass on the couch and wrap her in a blanket from the bed. The second thing was to try getting in touch with Bruce.

"C'mon," muttered Robin impatiently. His com-link was currently patched into a special phone line, one that could go directly to Wayne Manor and wouldn't be traced. Only those who were "in the family" could use the line and it was only for emergencies which Robin knew this qualified as.

"Yes?" asked Alfred as he picked up the phone.

"It's Tim," stated Robin, "I need Bruce to come over here now."

"I'm sorry, Master Timothy," replied Alfred, "He's currently out working on something with the Justice League." Robin felt like breaking something or throwing up. Right now he didn't care which came first.

"Alfred, this is serious," explained Robin as he looked over to where Cass was curled into a little ball and shaking, "Scarecrow's in town and he hit Cass with something. I don't even know what it is but it's not like the usual stuff he uses."

"I shall get in touch with Master Bruce immediately," stated Alfred, "After that, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you," replied Robin, "I'm not . . . I'm not well enough to handle this. The compound was in two parts and I . . . I think I got the first dose of it but not both like she did."

"I'll be there as soon as possible," repeated Alfred, "Take care of her until I arrive." Robin nodded and turned off the com. He went back over to the couch.

"Cass, you have to be okay," whispered Tim as he cradled her in his arms. He knew she couldn't hear him. She just kept mumbling "sorry" over and over again.

"It's my fault," whispered Robin, "Please don't be sorry for doing what you did."

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Alfred arrived quickly but, for Robin, nothing could happen fast enough.

"How is she?" asked Alfred as he looked at Robin. Tim looked like a wreck. Alfred could only remember seeing him like this a few times and those usually involved the death of someone close to him.

"I gave her a shot of the usual antitoxin," explained Robin, "It slows this new stuff down but that's about it. She . . . she recognized me once for a couple of seconds."

"I called the League," explained Alfred, "I left a message with Superman. Master Bruce was otherwise engaged but I have no doubt he'll receive the message as soon as possible."

"We need his tox lab," stated Robin, "The one I have isn't as good."

"We'll make do," assured Alfred as he looked over at Cass. The poor girl was still shaking. There wasn't a chance she would last the night.

"What we need is the antidote," stated Robin as he got up and moved to the window.

"Master Timothy, where do you think you're going?" asked Alfred.

"I'm going to find Crane," replied Robin, "Give her the antitoxin and pray it slows the poison down long enough for me to get back with the cure."

"And what if you end up sharing Miss Cassandra's fate?" asked Alfred.

"That's a risk worth taking," replied Robin, "She's a girl worth dying for." Tim knew he only had one chance at this. He also knew there was the large possibility of not coming back. He didn't care.

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It had taken a couple of shakedowns from some of his informants but Robin had found Scarecrow's new residence. Word on the street was that someone had contracted Crane but no one was willing to say who. Robin figured he could sort out that little detail later.

"Go time," whispered Robin as he crashed through the skylight and entered the warehouse. The place looked empty. There was a small workspace over in one corner. An amateur chemistry lab was set up there and Robin didn't even want to think about what was in those beakers. Other than that, the warehouse was mostly empty save for some old and decrepit machinery that still remained as a testament to the building's former life.

"Come out, Crane," ordered Robin, "I know you're in here and I'm through playing games tonight." Robin scanned the room. He didn't see any signs of Scarecrow.

"Has she died yet?" The question echoed off the walls, the voice seeming to come from everywhere.

"Not if I can help it," replied Robin. He would tear this whole building down if it meant finding Scarecrow and getting an antidote. Robin began cautiously creeping around the warehouse. He couldn't deny he was afraid. But fear, it seemed, was no stranger to Tim Drake these days and he wouldn't let anyone else see it in him.

"Boo!" Robin turned and felt a foot collide with his jaw. He took the blow and backed up, going straight for his bo staff.

"Are you scared of me yet?" asked Scarecrow, "I'm sure you got enough of the first dose of my new toxin." Robin steadied his nerves and jabbed Crane in the gut with his staff.

"I want an antidote," stated Robin as he hit Scarecrow in the side of the head with his staff, "I'm going to get it from you one way or the other."

"My, my, so forceful these days," said Scarecrow as he kicked Robin in the face, "You almost sound like Batman." That comment only served to get Tim angrier.

"You know, it's people like you that really make me hate doing this," stated Robin as he hit Scarecrow in the jaw again, "Average crooks, no problem. They know when enough is enough. But maniacs like you always have to push things." Robin blocked another incoming kick with his staff and managed to knock Crane's other leg out from under him.

"The antidote. Now," ordered Robin. He wasn't in the mood for any more games tonight.

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Scarecrow as he rolled away from Robin and regained his footing, "I used two whole canisters of perfectly good terror toxin on Batgirl. It would be a shame if she lived."

"You make me sick," spat Robin as he suddenly tackled Scarecrow and began pummeling him, "It never ends with you people. You just keep pushing and pushing and it makes me sick. Sick. Sick. Sick." He kept hitting Crane over and over again, pinning down the villain's arms and taking out his main offense. It felt good. Robin was actually enjoying beating this man senseless. But it wasn't just Scarecrow that Tim was knocking the hell out of. It was Scarecrow. It was Captain Boomerang. It was Black Mask. It was anybody and everybody who had contributed to making Tim Drake's life the nightmare it was today and, right now, Tim really enjoyed beating them for a change. His hand went back but didn't connect. He was sick, almost as sick as the people he fought against. Tim knew he wasn't supposed to enjoy hurting other people no matter how much they deserved it. It wouldn't bring back Steph or his father. It wouldn't do anything but make everything worse.

"Why do you pause?" asked Scarecrow, "Are you afraid to slay me?" Robin looked into the eyeholes of the gaudy mask his foe wore and saw something. Jonathan Crane wasn't even afraid to die.

"Why do you want to die?" asked Robin, "Do you fear living?"

"Touché, Robin," replied Scarecrow with a malicious grin, "Perhaps in the end we all fear living." Crane had plans, big plans. It wasn't about the money or retirement. Jonathan Crane was weary, weary beyond all help. He had wanted to die, to let the final curtain fall on this night and on his illustrious career. He feared becoming old, forgotten, a ghost. He feared being a man who had outlived his time, whose days of glory were far behind him. So he had accepted this job as his swan song but the act was not finished yet. A final scene was still required.

"Gimme the antidote and I'll let you live," stated Robin.

"A poor bargain for a man who wants to die," replied Scarecrow as his knee came up and connected with Robin's stomach. Tim let out a rush of air and rolled over onto his back.

"You know what's funny about fear?" asked Scarecrow as he checked the spray mechanisms on his wrists to make sure they still worked, "Certain animals have such unusual reactions to it. One would expect them to cower, to run and hide in fear. But some animals fight back when they're afraid."

"You're a sick man, Crane," stated Robin as he made it to his hands and knees. Scarecrow kicked him in the stomach again.

"So the question I beg you to answer, dear boy, is simply this," said Scarecrow as he readied his sprayers, "What kind of animal are _you_, Robin?" Tim knew what was coming but he couldn't help it. Scarecrow grabbed Robin by the collar and hoisted him to his feet, shoving the atomizer in Tim's face and letting the teenage hero get a nice, healthy dose of terror. Crane had seen some of Robin's anger. He knew that Batgirl couldn't have put him out of his misery. No, she wasn't the type of animal that would turn fear into rage. But Robin was different. Perhaps this play would end tonight after all.

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Robin coughed and sputtered as he felt himself suddenly deposited on the ground. His vision was swimming and he could feel his heart rate going up. Tim shook his head and tried to tell himself it wasn't real. Whatever he saw, whatever he felt, none of it was real.

"End me," ordered a voice. Robin looked up and saw Scarecrow. Only, it wasn't always Scarecrow. It kept changing. Sometimes it was Captain Boomerang, sometimes it was Black Mask, and sometimes it was some other Gotham rogue. But no matter who it was, it kept saying the same thing. End me. The voice rang in Robin's ears. He was the only person who could stop this. It was always him. Everyone was always counting on Tim Drake.

"End me," snarled Scarecrow as he kicked Robin in the head. Tim's nerves were shot, his body shaking. But everyone was counting on him and no matter how afraid he was of Scarecrow, or whoever the villain of the hour happened to be, he was more afraid of letting everyone else down. For that purpose, he fought on.

"You better check those sprayers again," said Robin as he grabbed Crane's foot and tripped him, "Whatever you gave me isn't going to work." Scarecrow got back to his feet only to have Robin's fist collide with his jaw.

"I'll make it work," snarled Scarecrow as he kicked Robin in the face, "I'll finish with you and go after Batgirl again. I'll kill them all."

"I won't let you," stated Robin as he gave Crane another shot in the jaw, "This ends tonight, Crane."

"Batgirl promised me the same," taunted Scarecrow as he kicked Robin in the stomach and then smashed his palm into Tim's jaw, "Will you succeed where she failed?"

"I'll give it a good try," retorted Robin as he kicked Scarecrow in the knee a few times, trying to cripple Crane's offense. His head was clear for what felt like the first time in ages.

"C'mon, boy," jeered Scarecrow, "Show me teeth, show me claws. Come show me that you're not afraid of a harmless scarecrow like me." He could see it in the way Robin moved. The boy was good at showing others he wasn't scared. That fear, the fear of letting others see his emotions, would be his undoing.

"I'm not afraid of you," stated Robin as he hit Scarecrow in the face again and took Crane down, "You and all your kind can take whatever you want from me but I'm not afraid of you."

"Convince yourself that," said Scarecrow as he took more blows to his face, "I can see the fear in you. Prove me wrong."

"I'm. Not. Afraid," said Robin as he continued to pummel his adversary. But with every blow and proclamation, Tim only felt more afraid. He was always afraid of letting what was inside him show. He was always afraid of letting everyone else down by admitting his fear. He couldn't stop. He couldn't be afraid. He had to prove to everyone else that he could cut it.

"I'm not afraid!" screamed Robin. He kept hitting Scarecrow over and over again, trying to beat down the fear with every punch. He barely even registered what he was doing. All he noticed was the mechanical motion of his arm pumping like a piston and the sound of his hand hitting Crane. He couldn't stop, he couldn't be afraid. He had to fight, had to prove himself. He couldn't stop now.

"What?" asked Robin as he felt someone suddenly grab his hand before it could go down for another blow. Tim suddenly realized how tired he was and let himself fall forward, his body being held by someone and gently laid on the ground.

"Steph?" asked Robin as he stared up at Stephanie Brown's face, "You're . . .dead."

"Ssssh," whispered Steph, "I know, Tim, but someone had to stop you before you made a terrible mistake. Just rest now, it's alright."

"But I have to . . . have to save Cass . . . have to prove I'm not afraid," explained Tim weakly. He tried to figured this out. Was this another hallucination? He thought the fear gas hadn't affected him. How was he seeing Steph if it hadn't affected him? Tim tried to get up and felt her hands gently push him down again.

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Tim Drake," stated Steph, "Not one single thing." Her touch somehow made everything feel okay again.

"I miss you," whispered Robin. Steph smiled and kissed him on the forehead.

"You're cute when you're determined," said Steph, "You had nothing to do with me dying, Tim. Don't blame yourself for my mistake."

"It's hard," explained Robin. He was aware of the encroaching blackness but was too tired to fight it. He was so tired that he couldn't even move.

"Let Cass help you," said Steph, "Let go for me, Tim. Let go and move on."

"I love you," whispered Robin as his eyes closed and he faded into unconsciousness.

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Silence permeated the warehouse, settling over everything as the two combatants remained motionless and lying on the floor. A shadow suddenly entered the room and moved towards the two figures. The famed Dark Knight of Gotham City crouched down and checked Robin's pulse. It was shallow but still there. Batman knew he had to find the antidote.

"You're lucky," muttered Batman as he looked at Scarecrow, "I probably wouldn't have stopped." The Caped Crusader then said nothing as he moved to the chemical lab and began to find an antidote.


	5. Fine Again

Commitment (Part Five)

By TheLostMaximoff

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Thanks to everyone for their support. Keep the reviews coming.

Things had not gone well. Oswald Cobblepot hated it when things didn't go his way. Sure he got to keep the money he had promised Crane but he'd probably lose it since those meddlesome teenagers were still able to foil his business arrangements. At the most, Scarecrow had only taken out Batgirl and Robin for a few days. At worst, someone might've tipped off the two crime-fighters that he was the one who had hired Crane to take them out.

"Stupid walking sack of straw," muttered Penguin as he stepped out onto his balcony and began checking his pockets for a lighter to go with his cigar. In the space of two seconds, Penguin felt his feet fly out from under him and suddenly realized that his night was only going to get worse.

"Did you think you could run from me?" asked the gravely voice. Penguin squawked helplessly as he hung upside down and face-to-face with the Batman.

"B-Batman," said Penguin, "My, what a surprise."

"Drop it, Cobblepot," sneered Batman, "I know you're the one who contracted Crane." Penguin's eyes bulged slightly and he was visibly agitated. Bad enough that Robin and Batgirl should find out but the Bat finding out was even worse.

"You can't prove it," said Penguin, trying not to sound nervous even though he clearly was.

"Listen to me," stated Batman, ignoring that Penguin was right. He didn't have to prove anything though. All he had to do was make Cobblepot squirm, spook the fat man into laying off his kids.

"I can have you for trespassing," replied Penguin, "Harassment, intimidation, lots of things."

"You're not listening," said Batman, "I let you get away with some things in Gotham because you give me information and because I'm getting soft in my old age. My kids won't make that kind of deal with you though. Don't give them any more of a reason to be all over you. Understand?"

"They can't touch me," boasted Penguin.

"I'm touching you right now," stated Batman grimly, "You take a shot at either of them again and you'll wind up in a hospital bed. Then I'll get my hands on you and, trust me, you don't want to know what will happen after that."

"Right," said Penguin nervously, "Understood. No problem here."

"Good," replied Batman as he unceremoniously dumped Penguin back onto the balcony and disappeared into the night.

"Stupid flying weasel," muttered Penguin sourly, "I need to have this place fumigated again."

xxxxxxx

Tim Drake groaned as sunlight hit his slowly opening eyes. His whole body ached and his brain felt like it had been hit by a truck. What day was it and where was he?

"Good morning, Master Timothy," said Alfred, "I was beginning to think I'd have to rouse you."

"Morning, Alfred," mumbled Tim as he stared at the clock and noticed the time, "Oh man, I'm late for school."

"You will not be going to school today," replied Alfred," Master Bruce phoned the establishment to report you would be out a few days. Nasty flu bug." At this point, Tim was inclined to agree. His muddled mind began piecing together the events prior to his blackout. Scarecrow, fear gas, Batgirl.

"Where's Cass?" asked Tim suddenly, "Is she okay?"

"Miss Cassandra is well," replied Alfred, steadying Tim as the Boy Wonder tried to jump out of bed and failed miserably, "Much the same as you, she has been enjoying a well-earned rest."

"How long were we out?" asked Tim skeptically.

"About a day or so," replied Alfred, "Master Bruce arrived on the scene moments after you blacked out. It took him a few moments to decipher the Scarecrow's notes but he eventually found the antidote."

"I . . . I need to see Cass," said Tim, "Before all this . . . because of all this . . . we had a fight. I was being stupid."

"Then I think you should consider yourself lucky she left you in the condition to apologize," replied Alfred, "Maybe that's a sign she already forgives you."

"I wanna tell her," explained Tim.

"She's currently occupying your couch," explained Alfred, "Perhaps you should wake her up while I get you two something to eat." Tim nodded and slowly got out of bed, moving into the living room of his apartment. He found Cass sleeping soundly on his couch. Tim took a few moments to admire her. She was very pretty, something he had always noticed. He remembered how he used to be intimidated by her, by the things she had been taught and the person she had been groomed to be. But in spite of all that, or maybe perhaps because of it somehow, Tim Drake had come to see the incredible person that was Cassandra Cain. It was at this point that Tim realized how much of an idiot he had really been. Sure he'd seen Cass do a lot of things he didn't think human beings were capable of but it didn't mean she wasn't any more or less of a human than he was. Tim knew her feelings were as important as his own and he didn't have a right to ignore them the way he had.

"Hey," said Tim as he watched Cass slowly open her eyes. The second her mind registered who it was, Cass sat up and gave Tim the biggest hug she'd ever given anyone.

"I thought . . .," explained Cass.

"Relax," whispered Tim, "I need to apologize, not you." It felt nice holding her. Tim's brain had somehow registered that earlier when he was tending to her but he couldn't fully appreciate it until now.

"I was an idiot," said Tim honestly as he looked into Cass's eyes, "It wasn't the fear gas either. It was me."

"I shouldn't . . . it wasn't the right time," said Cass, "You and Steph . . . that still must hurt."

"Cass, can you at least agree with me when I'm apologizing to you?" asked Tim with a smile. Cass blushed slightly and simply nodded.

"Maybe it _was_ a bad time," relented Tim, "but I should've handled the situation differently. I am afraid, Cass. This whole thing has made me realize that I am afraid of a lot of things. Maybe it's time I did something to change that."

"So can we . . . are we together?" asked Cass.

"Slow," replied Tim, "We need to go slow with this. I know that you already know how I feel about you, Cass, but not everyone can read people the way you can. I need to read myself and that takes time."

"You talk . . . too much," replied Cass as she gently put a finger to his lips, "You never have to . . . not with me." She simply rested against him after that, enjoying the simple comfort of being with him and being alive.

"What happened . . . to Scarecrow?" asked Cass suddenly.

"Master Bruce took care of it," assured Alfred as he came in from the kitchen, "He personally delivered Dr. Crane to the GCPD. Apparently he was wanted in connection to a homicide before he left Gotham."

"Good," said Cass simply. She hated to think that someone else got hurt because she wasn't around. It was good to know that everything had been taken care of.

"Breakfast is ready," informed Alfred, "I'm afraid I'll have to leave you two here. I am, of course, needed back home."

"You sure you can't stay?" asked Tim.

"No, I believe things here are well enough in hand," replied Alfred. He glanced at Cass, tossing her a knowing gaze that he was sure she could read.

"We'll . . . we'll be okay," assured Cass with a nod, "Everything is okay." Alfred nodded.

"We should eat," said Cass as Alfred left, "I'm starving."

"I'll be back," assured Tim with a smile, "Stay with me, okay?"

"Always," replied Cass simply as Tim got up and moved into the kitchen. Cass lingered, idly running her fingers along the couch's arm and absently glancing at the darkened television set. She felt . . . different somehow. It was as if things were suddenly right and nothing could be wrong again. Everything moved together without any gaps. Everything was perfect.

"So I had this idea," said Tim as he came back in with breakfast and set the plates and silverware on the coffee table.

"Tell," said Cass.

"Well, actually it was _your_ idea," explained Tim, "Do you remember it?" Cass shook her head. When she tried to remember the events of that night, everything got blurry and jumbled up inside her head.

"You bought me a very nice movie," prompted Tim, "Weren't we going to watch it together?" Cass blushed and nodded silently.

"What about . . . school?" asked Cass.

"Apparently I have the flu," said Tim, "Isn't that lucky?" Cass rolled her eyes as Tim went into his room and returned with his new copy of _The Maltese Falcon_.

"Tim . . . thanks," said Cass as she took a bit of her pancakes, "Thanks for . . . for everything." Tim smiled.

"It's nothing you don't do for me," he told Cass as he began clicking the remote and attempting to eat at the same time.

"So, good movie?" asked Cass.

"A classic," assured Tim as he put an arm around her shoulder and let the movie begin to play. It had been a long time since he had seen the heroic exploits of Sam Spade, the last time had been with Steph. He didn't dwell on that now, on the fact that she was gone. He felt Cass put her head on his shoulder and sighed. Life for Tim Drake was good for a change. Tim absently glanced over at the other end of the couch and blinked. Was that Steph standing over by the end of the couch? Tim vaguely remembered that she had been there that night but he had dismissed it as a hallucination caused by the fear gas. But she was here now too and she was smiling at him. Tim blinked again and she was gone.

"Something . . . wrong?" asked Cass as she unconsciously registered Tim's slight bewilderment.

"No," assured Tim as he turned his attention back to Humphrey Bogart, "No, nothing's wrong. Not anymore."

xxxxxxx

Jonathan Crane had always marveled at how devious the criminal mind could be when it tried. Take his escape from police custody a few minutes ago for example. He had been tied up and deposited back in Gotham on the police department's doorstep. But the Batman and the police failed to think of something. Scarecrow had numerous tricks at his disposal. Indeed, upon regaining consciousness he had quickly formulated a plan. As he struggled against his bindings, Crane had been slipping out small capsules of fear gas that he kept in the folds of his costume as well as loosening his bindings. It was late in the night and not many of Gotham's finest had stayed around for his grand arrival. Scarecrow took it to his advantage. The second the officers had arrived, Crane had managed to use both capsules on them. While they were disoriented, Scarecrow had freed himself completely and had managed to gas them to where they'd be dead by morning.

"Thank you, boys," said Scarecrow as he tipped his hat to the two terror-stricken men, "Also, if by chance you happen to run into Robin or Batgirl in the next few, and for you final, hours then do please thank them too." He felt renewed at this point, as if this latest clash with the Bat-clan had somehow reinvigorated his spirits. He had been so close, so very close, to victory. Had he not been trapped within the tormenting confines of his depression, he would've been able to think clearer and probably would've won.

"I know their secrets," said Scarecrow to himself, "I know what haunts them. Next time, I _will_ end them." He knew that, of course, there would be a next time. He had to make them pay, all of them. No one humiliated Jonathan Crane, not anymore. So he would show them, show them the true nature of the fear that poisoned their souls. But that, he decided, would be reserved for a later date. For now, Scarecrow was quite content to simply haunt the streets of Gotham. He would return to the limelight, of course, but he needed time. Yes, and there was so much time to be had. He had his entire life to teach these fools, teach them to fear him. No longer was he worried about being forgotten. No, he would make them remember him. He was committed now, focused on his mission like never before. Scarecrow laughed to himself. He had been truly stupid. What cause did he have to be depressed? None whatsoever. After all, who could ever be afraid of a silly, little thing like commitment?

(Author's Note): Hope everyone enjoyed this story. Even though it's finished, I'm considering writing a sequel so only time will tell. Until then, I'm sure you'll see my name attached to some other TimxCass fic. Take care.


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